


Sore

by draculard



Series: Pellaeon/Thrawn 30 Day Ficlets [11]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26390704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: “You’re an old man, Gilad," Thrawn told him with mock concern. "You have to take care in bed.”Pellaeon huffed, his blush cooling almost at once. “I’m only three months older than you,” he protested.
Relationships: Gilad Pellaeon/Thrawn | Mitth’raw’nuruodo
Series: Pellaeon/Thrawn 30 Day Ficlets [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904581
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	Sore

Pellaeon leaned back one centimeter at a time, surreptitiously stretching his lower back. Or at least, _trying_ to. It was the fifth time he’d fidgeted in as many minutes; earlier today, at the start of his shift, it wasn’t so bad, but after ten hours of constant standing, he felt like perhaps a disc had popped permanently out of place in his spine.

It was all Thrawn’s fault, he thought, suppressing a glower. A little soreness was only to be expected after sex, but this was something else entirely. And he’d been on _top_ , for God’s sake! He could only imagine he’d strained a muscle at some point, either when he was fucking Thrawn in the mouth or later, when he had the Grand Admiral’s legs up over his head and was fucking him in the ass.

...But thoughts like this had no place on the bridge. Pellaeon glanced at his chrono, anxiety trickling through him as he watched the minutes crawl to the end of his shift. He moved his weight around from foot to foot, hoping the dull (torturous) ache in his lower back would ease up even a little, rather than keep building.

It didn’t. 

When the display on his chrono hit 1700, Pellaeon turned to the commander next to him at once and growled, “You have the bridge. See to turnover.”

He didn’t wait for a response, marching right out of the bridge and to Thrawn’s command room. He needed painkillers. He needed a hot shower and a massage.

Most importantly, he needed to complain.

He burst through the door to Thrawn’s command room without bothering to knock, and Thrawn, predictably, didn’t even glance up from his art displays as Pellaeon stormed in. His eyes were red slits as he examined the sculpts before him, his face relaxed and difficult to read. Only when Pellaeon had stomped right up to his side did Thrawn’s placid expression flicker.

His eyes shifted to Pellaeon, studying his face.

“Sore?” he asked.

Oh, that bastard was _smiling_ , Pellaeon noticed. 

“Don’t be so smug about it,” he ground out. “This is all your fault.”

Thrawn lifted one hand and delicately pressed his fingertips to his chest, as if to say, _Me?_ “I seem to recall you _wanted_ to take the lead,” he said innocently. “Of course, I did warn you to pace yourself—”

Pellaeon flushed as he remembered Thrawn, eyes closed and lips parted, hair mussed as he breathed, _Faster, Gilad._

“—and it is of course _your_ responsibility to know your limits,” Thrawn continued. He leaned forward and turned off the holo displays, smiling just slightly at Pellaeon as he did so. “You’re an old man, Gilad. You have to take care in bed.”

Pellaeon huffed, his blush cooling almost at once. “I’m three months older than you,” he protested. “And that’s according to _you_ , and we both know you’re not the most reliable source of information.”

Thrawn waved this concern away. “I’m more athletic, though,” he said. “So my age doesn’t matter.”

Pellaeon shook his head with a dark expression and leaned forward against Thrawn’s chair, trying futilely to stretch his back. He felt something pop in his spine, but the sensation brought only a moment of relief. Turning at the waist, Thrawn glanced over his shoulder at him.

“My, you really _are_ in a bad state,” he commented. “You know, I have some stretching exercises—”

“You shut up,” Pellaeon told him. 

Thrawn turned away at once — most likely to hide a smile. He waited until Pellaeon had moved back from the chair. 

“If you’re really sore, Gilad,” he said, his tone like a peace offering, “I do have some lotions you can use. In the fresher. A warm bath might be all you need, yes? And a massage?”

Pellaeon scowled at him, wanting desperately not to give in after all the shots about his age. But it did sound nice, he had to admit. Reluctantly, he nodded and moved back, giving Thrawn space to push his chair out and stand. Thrawn did so.

And then bent over with a loud, involuntary groan, hands shooting down to grip his thighs even as his neck arched and his teeth bared in agony.

“Ohhh,” Thrawn groaned. Then, under his breath, “Ouch.”

“Oh, you _bastard!_ ” said Pellaeon, reaching out to steady Thrawn even as Thrawn reached for him. “You’re sore, too!”

Grimacing, with one hand on Pellaeon’s arm for balance, Thrawn massaged his shaking thighs. “This means nothing,” he said.


End file.
